


like a pair of birds bobbing their heads

by ayselz



Series: bverse character study bits [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, idk man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29732904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayselz/pseuds/ayselz
Summary: Fritjof knows he should be not terrified of what Andrine has to say forever. So, he seeks her out.
Relationships: 2P!Norway & 2P!Nyo!Sweden, Fritjof Larsen & Linnea Andrine Silfverstjerna
Series: bverse character study bits [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070318
Kudos: 2





	like a pair of birds bobbing their heads

The old Silfverstjerna manse held bittersweet memories for Einar's grandchildren, so they avoided it more often than not. Linnea Andrine, however, thrived in it; which was why Fritjof was not surprised to learn she was staying in it for the meantime.

Most of the manse was unoccupied, teeming with the ghosts of years past, with only the caretakers checking in every once in a while to ensure it still stood. Andrine herself just had mostly invaded the garden area and made it her home in Manila.

She was tending to the roses when Fritjof made his presence known.

Andrine glanced down to the watch on her wrist. "Early bird," she muttered, which carried through the garden, before putting down the spray bottle she was holding. She turned around to face Fritjof. "The haste of Manila made you pick up pace, too, Jofi?"

He chuckled. "You can say that." A beat passed. "Why did you want to see me, Andrine?"

She gestured toward the shaded gazebo. Under the sunlight her hair shone the way amber would probably shine when hit by the sun's rays, and it only occurred to Fritjof then that she'd had it cut. He chose not to bring it up.

The dizzying smell of roses permeated the air as he followed Andrine to the gazebo. The carved stone table they used to frequent was still there, and today a porcelain tea set sat atop it. There was also a plate with macarons piled neatly on it.

Fritjof broke the silence once they entered the shade provided by the gazebo. "The tea has gone cold."

Andrine shrugged at that. She took her place at the table and began pouring tea. "You like it lukewarm, or even cold. I am making this afternoon more comfortable for you, Jofi."

With the sound of tea splashing into the cup ringing in his ears, Fritjof took a seat from across Andrine. She was methodical and precise as she served him, nearly making him laugh ironically. After all, Andrine was raised with perfect manners.

"Cut to the chase," Fritjof found himself saying, once she stopped pouring tea. "Why were you so pushy about meeting me? I get your message perfectly clearly, Andrine. There's no need to seek me out."

"I’m not sure you do, Jofi. Not this time. I told you, I'm looking out for you." Andrine brought her cup to her lips and took a long sip. She made a face. "God, tea is terrible when it's cold. I still don't understand how you manage to consume that."

That made Fritjof chuckle. "It's not enough to just know things, 'no? You have to understand them, too." He glanced back toward the manse, standing proudly under the harsh glare of the sun. "I brought flowers, by the way. I left them in the living room."

Andrine raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"Candytuft."

She laughed, catching him by surprise and making him turn toward her. It was oddly uncharacteristic, the way she laughed. Fritjof was used to seeing a more pensive, serious look on her face. Whenever she laughed, she looked normal—kind, even, with her eyes nearly closing and crinkling at the corners.

Fritjof looked away.

"Indifference, really? You are amusing me today, Jofi."

He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up his cup and took a sip. Words were like tea, Fritjof thought absently. When hot, they burned and hurt, but cold they were easier to digest. Of course, Andrine wouldn't understand that. Her words and knowledge had always been part of her arsenal, to be used against those who dared stand in her way.

Fritjof had often wondered why he was always caught in the crossfire.

"What did I ever do to you, Andrine?" he eventually asked, punctuating the heavy silence.

Andrine replaced her cup on its saucer. She leaned back on her seat, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. Fritjof waited for her to speak.

"Lukas always told me there was no place for you. In the company, in Iceland—anywhere. I took those words to heart and made it a personal agenda to bring you down.'' Then, she opened her eyes. While Fritjof's were dark, like the depths of the ocean, hers were light, like a shallow lake. "He called you earlier this week. What did he say?"

"You told him about Irma and I," he replied icily. Out of all the things he'd heard from Lukas earlier that week, him saying Irma's name was what got on Fritjof's nerves the most.

Andrine shrugged. Careless, as always. "I did what I had to.'' She picked up a macaron with a fork and pretended to inspect it. "He will find out in one way or another and you know that. I just did not want him to think I was hiding things I know from him, especially about you and your presumed happiness."

Fritjof drew in a deep breath after hearing that. He was already hundreds of miles away from Lukas, but why was he still actively crushing Fritjof's hopes and taking away his shots at happiness?

But, something in what Andrine said made him think.

"Are you scared of him, too?" he asked, finally.

"No," she answered quickly, firmly, and Fritjof was jealous of how confident Andrine was. "I'm not scared of your brother. It's the other way around, actually."

Fritjof nearly fell out of his seat. "What?"

Andrine took a small bite out of her macaron, chewing it slowly and extending the silence. Fritjof tried to not grow impatient; she was so, so similar to him in the smallest ways—cryptic, dramatic.

"Just say it, Andrine."

Andrine laughed again. "For such a bright candle, you have a very short wick." She rolled her eyes, almost seemingly playfully, but Fritjof refused to believe that. "Lukas is terrified of what I can do, which is why he sent me here. I'm not here to ruin your life, Jofi. I'm here to warn you.

"He will never say anything against me, as he knows I can turn the success of the group on itself should he provoke me to, and he does not want that. But, he will always turn to you. Because you never fight back."

"Why are you warning me?" The thought of it alone made Fritjof laugh incredulously. “Did you change sides? Now that you're starting to feel how it is like to be his target?"

"Mhm." At the end of the day, Andrine was honest. "I was being true when I said I did not know you had it in you to pursue someone like Heidi Irmgard Kaufmann, by the way. Did something in the Philippine air change you, Jofi?"

That struck something. The charm Irma had given him the night prior, hidden safely inside his pocket, seemed to burn through the fabric of his jeans.

"I'm not sure, either," he began slowly, wondering for whose sake was he going to say what he was about to say. "Do I really have it in me, or was I just acting? I'm a very skilled actor, you know."

Andrine frowned very, very slightly. Concern was another look that didn't suit her face, Fritjof thought to himself. It looked unnatural, as if she only learned how to wear the expression yesterday. “Elaborate,” she said. It was not a request.

"You were right, Andrine. I don’t deserve Irma." Fritjof was amazed at how easily that slipped out of his mouth. The truth had always been the easiest to say out loud, it seemed. "Soon, she will realize how severely pathetic I am, and I do not wish to be there to see how the fondness in her expression transforms to disgust."

The letter was already written; he had used up all the ink of the pen he stole from Irma, but he would always keep it despite its emptiness. Fritjof was an honest person, and even though he wanted to talk to Irma in person, he also knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away from her.

She was so, so happy last night, showing him the building she’s planning to purchase for her dance school. That was the image of her he wanted to burn into the back of his mind, the one he wanted to hold on to for the months and years to come.

"I’m planning to end my courtship and leave this place."

"You are kidding me." There was apprehension in Andrine’s tone, but Fritjof couldn’t understand why. She should be happy, shouldn’t she? He was basically doing her work for her. Lo and behold, Fritjof Larsen was ruining his own chance at happiness.

He told Irma to pick which kite strings to keep. He hoped she would choose wisely, and pursue her dreams, even when he was about to let her go—fly freely, without the thief of peace potentially holding her back.

When Andrine laughed, it was born out of disbelief. "See, that is why Lukas keeps the target on you. Because you do not know how to fight back.”

"Tell me something I don’t know, Andrine."

She shook her head. "Nothing I will say will change your mind, Jofi?" He nodded at that, and she nodded back—he fought the urge to laugh, as they looked like a pair of birds bobbing their heads for a moment there. "Alright. Where do you plan to go?"

"Tønsberg," he replied.

Birds flew south for the winter, but they headed back home when spring came. Fritjof would do the same. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
